Moonstruck
by XiXi Scarlett
Summary: Everybody gives her looks of pity when Elizaveta Herdervary talks about her new patient. What can be so bad about him? When she met him, he was probably the sweetest person ever! Why is the name 'Gilbert Beilschmidt' so important in this ward? It is Elizaveta's job to find out and cure him.


Author's Note: Hello, readers! I have a feeling this will be an awesome fic! This fanfiction is inspired by a fic over in the FMA section. It's called (pause while I go look it up)...'With Hope, Winry' by Sense Marauder. If you like FMA and EdWin fics, go check it out! Anyway...Renny-chan, take it away!

Ren-Kyo: XiXi Scarlett-dono does not own Hetalia: Axis Powers or anything associated with it.

-XiXi Scarlett (accompanied by her Renny-chan)

I dedicate this, and all of my other fanfictions, to God. May all glory be to Him.

* * *

Elizaveta Herdervary nervously walks down the hall. She is ready to see her first ever patient, but she is not exactly sure what to expect. She remembers when this place called her, telling her she got the job. She was happy and all, but was she really supposed to be happy about working in a mental hospital? She guesses she should. She gets to help people, right?

As she nears the door, Elizaveta hears insane laughing coming from behind it. Are they sure that she should work with this guy first? He sounds a little...more advanced than the type of people Elizaveta probably should be working with first. There is a _boom _of thunder, and the man's laughter becomes louder.

Cautiously, she opens the door. In the middle of the room sits a man with silver hair. He looks at her with gleaming red eyes as she enters the room and starts to cackle again. Startled by his appearance, Elizaveta didn't even realize he had stopped laughing.

Elizaveta quicklly scans the room. You can barely see the bed from under the giant mess of scattered papers on it. They have writing on them, but she could not quite make out the words. The two security cameras in the corners of the ceiling are caged in, and it is evident that he had attempted to cover them at some point. The window also has bars on it, and raindrops are starting to splatter on the glass. There is also a chair that has a red blanket on it near the closet. The patient has a yellow plush bird in his hands and is trying to make it sit on his head. The floors and ceiling should be completely white, but there are scribbles on it and even a long list of tally marks!

Instead of sitting, Elizaveta stays standing. She had been told that this guy sometimes gets angry easily. What should she say first? Oh, right. She remembers multiple people telling her that starting with an introduction is always good.

"Hello," she greets, smiling. Smiling is key! "I'm Elizaveta. What's your name?"

"Kesesese~!" he laughs. "It's Gilbert! Kesesesesese~!"

_What does he find so funny? Maybe it's part of his condition. Would I be allowed to ask him what's funny? I should ask someone later. _"So..." _Polite conversation is always the best thing! _"What's your favorite color, Gilbert?"

Gilbert pauses his laughter again to think about his answer. "I like a lot of colors. Especially the color that things outside are. My favorite color are the colors that the sky at night and the sparkly things in it make. I named it _steloctis_. And I also like the color my eyes are, even though I sort of forgot about them when the mirror was taken away. What's your favorite color?"

"My favorite color is probably light green," Elizaveta answers. When he said _steloctis_, she recalled a bit of Latin that she had once tried to learn. _Stella _means star, and _noctis _means night. Maybe Gilbert used to know Latin. "What do you like to do, Gilbert?"

This time, Gilbert set down his little plush. Was it just her, or did Elizaveta hear him tell it to stay put? "There's not much to do here, actually. I like playing with Gilbird here. He's a very good sport and doesn't care when you don't want to play what he wants. The other people that used to visit me liked to play with him, too. Maybe he'll likke you and we can all play! When Gilbird doesn't want to play or is sleeping, I usually like to draw or write stories or these weird rhyming things." Ah, so _that _is what is written on the papers. "Do you like to do things, Eliza?"

Elizaveta nods, smiling at her new nickname. "I like to read a lot."

"I used to like reading, but I forgot what books I like."

"I could bring you a book next time, if you'd like," she offers.

"Can you?" He seems to brighten up at the very though of reading. "I'd like that a lot! I don't think I've read a book since..." Gilbert stands up and walks over to the tally marks. "Since the first year I got here! When I was twelve!"

"You were twelve when you came here?" Elizaveta asks, immediately regretting it. Is that considered rude? This boy is the same age as her, and she is only twenty-five years old. He would have been here for around thirteen years. But to be admitted at such a young age?

Gilbert nods enthusiastically, as if he has never told anyone about his time there before. "Before I came here, I went to see some therapist person, but I still got to stay at home. I forgot what happened after that, but I woke up one day and was here! I was the youngest person here, but that's okay! They used to give me candy sometimes, even though it didn't taste very nice." He looks up at her again after returning to his spot on the floor. "When did you get here?"

"Just a couple of days ago, actually. I moved all the way from a different country," Elizaveta tells him. She decides to impress him. Is it possible that he could have the same way of thinking as a twelve-year-old?

The impressing idea works. His eyes widen. "What's it called? Is it across that big blue thing? I forgot what it's called...you know, the thing that has sand and salty water?"

"The ocean," Elizaveta supplies.

"Yeah, that! Let me write it down so I don't forget." Gilbert takes one of the random pieces of chalk littered around the floor and scribbles the word 'ocean' in blue on the floor. "You've been standing for an awful long time. Do you wanna sit on my chair? I don't mind."

"Okay," Elizaveta agrees and sits. "The country I moved here from is called Hungary."

"That's so cool!" Gilbert exclaims. "Do you like those things that grown sometimes in the cracks of the window? I forgot what they're called, but they're colorful and have those bright middles." In a few seconds, he draws an extremely realistic and detailed flower. "Like that."

"That's a beautiful picture," Elizaveta comments. "Those are called flowers."

He writes the word 'flower' and an arrow pointing to it on the ground. "What kind of those things do you like?"

"I think cornflowers are really pretty," she answers. "Do you have a favorite flower?"

"Yeah. I like those thorny ones. The ones that are red. What are those called?"

"Roses."

"Yes, roses. I like roses. Wow, you know a lot about the world, Eliza! Have you been all over it?"

Elizaveta laughs a little bit. "Not all over it. I've seen a few places before."

"You're lucky! You get to go outside." He picks up Gilbird again. "They don't let me outside anymore. The most I see of outside is through the window and sometimes when they let me go and play with the other people here, the TV has outside on it."

"Maybe they'll let you outside soon." It is best to encourage your patients. Elizaveta recalls one of her professors telling her that.

"Maybe. You're really nice, Eliza. And really pretty!"

Elizaveta blushes at this comment. "Thank you, Gilbert. You don't look too bad yourself." _I'm not lying, _Elizaveta thinks. _Gilbert is rather handsome. _

"Do you want to play with Gilbird and I?" he asks. "We can play a whole bunch of games!"

Elizaveta checks her watch. "Actually, I have to go now, Gilbert. I'm sorry I can't stay longer." She reluctantly stands up and starts to head towards the door when she is stopped by Gilbert hugging her.

"No! Don't go!" he protests. "You'll never come back just like all the others! Don't leave me!"

She shushes him and hugs back. "I'll be back. I promise."

"Okay!" He seems to have a sudden change in mood. "Thanks for talking to me, Eliza! I'll see you tomorrow! Byebye!"

Elizaveta smiles. "Goodbye, Gilbert. I'll see you tomorrow." As she closes and locks the door behind her, she thinks that maybe this is not the patient everybody fears.

* * *

"What do you know about Gilbert Beilschmidt?" Elizaveta asks one of the more experienced doctors after lunch.

"He's a tough one," he answers. "He's been here a long time and hasn't gotten better; only worse. He's gone through quite a few therapists in the past month. Actually, last month was the worst. Thirty therapists in thirty days. How did you even get someone like him? Would you like me to request an exchange?"

She shakes her head. "No. I'm not going to back down just because everybody else did. What's wrong with him that makes him so bad, anyway?"

"He has minor Dissociative Identity Disorder, meaning he has multiple personalities, but he keeps his same name. One of his personalities, the shyest one, has agateophobia. When he's in that mood, he'll usually be huddled in the corner or trying to saw off the bars of the window using his chalk. The same personality also has agoraphobia, agliophobia, and cleithrophobia. We call that one the A Personality, since that was the first mood we discovered.

"Another one is when he acts most like a twelve-year-old. We believe that the reason he sometimes he acts like this is because his brain doesn't want to believe how long he's been here. We call it 12 Personality. Speaking of these personality names, we usually just refer to them as the first letter or number," the doctor adds. "In 12, he'll hug people and start drawing and all around just open up. When he's in 12 for long periods of time, we'll let him out to interact with other patients, even though it doesn't last for long.

"PW Personality, which is shortened for Poet-Writer Personality, is when he starts to use his markers to write short stories, poems, letters, or even journals on the pieces of paper we give him. Sometimes we have to evaluate them after rather unusual bouts of mood swings. One of our staff enjoys reading what he likes to write down. Some of his poems have tales of heartache or adventure. Others are more violent. Some stories are peaceful and are of romance, while others, like the poetry, are dark and violent. There's a joke going around that we'd publish his works in a book called 'Musings of the Insane' or something like that.

"Then we have his worst mood. A Japanese member of our staff named it Aku Personality. In Japanese, 'aku' means evil. Aku is when he goes all out ballistic. He's harmed staff members, nurses, and anyone who's tried to communicate with him. We usually end up having to sedate him and put him in solitary confinement. Rumor has it that he has actually almost killed someone in that state."

Wanting to get off of the topic, Elizaveta asks another question. "What about that plush bird?"

The doctor chuckles, grateful that he does not have to go further into the Aku Personality. "Ah, Gilbird. Back when his family still visited him, his mother gave him that stuffed bird. He's convinced that it's living and asks people if they want to play with it when he's in 12. At one point, he requested that a cage be brought into his room so he could put Gilbird in it at night because the bird was pecking him. We don't take it away from him because we believe it gives Gilbert comfort."

Elizaveta nods, taking in all of the information about her patient. "Okay. Thank you, sir." With that, she turns and heads over to her office to record all of this.

* * *

That Eliza lady was really nice. I'm sad that she has to go, but I'll see her tomorrow. She promised! She's also really pretty. I can't believe I forgot to ask her what day her birthday was. In fact, I forgot to ask her what day and year it is! I can't count _all _of my tally marks. Someone else has to do all of the hard math for me. Gilbird can't count either.

...

What am I talking about? Tally marks are easy to count. I stand up from my spot on the floor to grab a piece of paper and a red marker. Then, I sit back down again, setting the paper on the concrete floor so I can write on it easily.

_The woman I met today was beautiful_

_Her hair flows over her shoulders like a river_

_Her eyes as green as grass_

_I've not yet seen someone like her. Not ever._

_Though I hope to see her once again_

_Her name was like music to my ears_

_Elizaveta...Elizaveta...It echoes..._

_I can almost feel her presence as she nears_

_The way she-_

I crumple up the piece of paper and throw it at the only blank spot of wall in the room. If I'm trying to impress her with my writing, I certainly cannot have stupid things like that! Maybe I should write her a story explaining her pristine beauty. Perhaps one that compares her to something like that one pink tree I see all the time on TV. The ones that bloom in the one season called 'spring'. To say that I've forgotten most of the outside world is an understatement. I haven't been out in so long, I can't remember what the sun feels like.

...

I'm scared. I'm so scared. Why am I locked up in this place? I crawl into my place of safety with Gilbird, scattering the papers I don't remember writing on to the floor. I'm now in my bed with the covers puled over my head. Maybe if I stay under here long enough...maybe it'll all go away. Maybe I'll come out of the covers and see a normal bedroom. Maybe this is all just a bad dream. Maybe I'm in a coma. On the movies they show sometimes, the protagonist always seems to awake from their terrible situation. What's wrong with me? Why am I here?

I start to hyperventilate at thought of me being insane. I can't be insane. I'm not insane. I'm not insane. I'm not insane. Nothing is going to hurt me. Why won't this life just go away?

...

I come out from under the covers, laughing my laugh. "Kesesesese~!" That ugly, disgusting, insane laugh will probably haunt me forever. When..._if _I'm ever let out of this place, the only thing that I want to show my scars is my laugh. I'm not even sure why they let me stay for so long. Thirteen years, is it now? Like I said, the only thing I want left of my life here is my laugh. And maybe Gilbird.

The doctors haven't figured out this part of me. I'm letting out all of the laughter that should have filled my life. Somehow, I think that this part of me might be the only sane part. I keep laughing, enjoying this moment of sanity. This is the only time I get to reflect on things I have done. This is the only time where I realize all of my problems. I know that I have to look it straight in the face and attack it head-on.

Where has my insanity come from? I'm not even sure myself. Looking back at some of my very first writings, I read intricate stories about somebody hurting me. Somebody standing over me with a wicked grin, a monster trying to rip me to shreds, a villain...it's different all the time. This same figure haunts my nightmares. None of the therapists stay with me long enough to talk to me about these things.

Maybe this Elizaveta person will be different. This is my last sane thought.

...

I sit in the corner. They think I'm being shy when I'm sitting here, but of course I'm not. My back is to the cameras. They can't watch me here. I start to dig my fingernails deep into myself. It's the only way I can keep calm in this mood when there's nobody but in the room but Gilbird and I. The sight of blood pleases me, though I'm not sure why.

I start to write words on the wall in my own blood. Insane...Evil...Terrible...Useless...They're all describing me, Every single one describes the failure writing them. This is 'Aku' when nobody's around.

...

End Gilbert's POV

Gilbert still sits in the corner, but he is rubbing the newly inflicted scars with the red blanket. It soaks most of the blood up, but it will not stop it completely. He's now standing on the line between sanity and insanity. His sane thoughts are fleeting, but he manages to remember one.

_Why am I doing this to myself?_

* * *

Agateophobia- The fear of insanity  
Agliophobia- The fear of pain  
Agoraphobia- The fear of open or crowded spaces; the fear of leaving a safe place  
Cleithrophobia- The fear of being locked in a room

Author's Note: And there you have it! Is this any good or not?

Ren-Kyo: Reviews are greatly appreciated!

-XiXi Scarlett (accompanied my her Renny-chan)


End file.
